Undead Liberty
by bkrndnx
Summary: A plague has devastated Liberty City and left the metropolis in ruins. The undead roam the streets while the survivors struggle to live throughout each and every day. The story follows the narrative of a tough-toned professional killer and his own attempt at survival... I tried writing this a couple years ago, but it wasn't that good. Here's to a second try!


I'm not going to sugar-coat and I'm not going to preach.

The world as we once knew it has descended into utter fucking hell. The undead roam the streets with their hunger for living flesh. Torn down walls. Collapsed buildings. Cars with broken engines. Shit everywhere.

The plague of Liberty City - the big, bad infection spread across the borroughs sent this place spiraling from Shitville and right down into present-day Carcer City.

Screaming - shrieking - at whatever fucking thing they can hear. Anything their crumbled, infected brains can comprehend as human flesh - they snarl and they chase. They swarm and they bite. They tear and they shred.

They don't stop. I'm telling you. They don't fucking stop until you find yourself unloading a clip on one of them - and the fucker is still clapping its rotten teeth together while its missing a torso.

Seth, it's the brain - I tell myself this all the time. It's the fucking brain, and you have to remember that.

No matter how many times their discoloured pupils stare at you like they're just lost individuals - they're not, okay? They're monsters. With rotten, dirtied skin and they deserve to die.

They all deserved it.

And then there's the survivors. The incredibly lucky individuals that escaped death. Avoided the plague and then inherited a fucking fortune of tragedies.

They are just as bad as the infected. If not - even worse, and it's not because they're inherently selfish.

It's because they're afraid. Everyone in Liberty City was pushed to the brink of mental chaos because of how fucking terrifying everything is. This is why every survivor is a living threat - everyone handles being frightened differently.

The young man - probably isn't even at least 20 years old yet - who tied my hands behind my back with rope, is scared. He might look threatening with the semi-automatic handgun in his hands, but deep down he's a terrified, little puppy. He was just outside the door to the suite, carefully surveying the first-floor corridor of the small apartment building.

The older one, tightly gripping a crowbar and actively glancing around the room, is clearly freaking the fuck out. He's not showing it through his body language, but you can see it in his eyes - the undead haunt his memories. His eyes were fixated on the stained, cracked window of the apartment.

And of course, the de facto leader of this forsaken group of fucktwats, is afraid the most. How can you tell? The dirtied, scruffy-bearded piece of shit wielding the knife brought me into this crumbling ruin of a building in Bohan. Stripped me of my weapons. My supplies. Just so he could play 'browbeater' to compensate for his utter lack of mental control.

"Look, man..." the man with the gun said from over my shoulder, as a faint knocking repeatedly sounded from down the hall. "We… well… this isn't something we want..."

"Shut the fuck up, Rob!" the leader yelled from in front of me. His eyes lowered to my own, and then he kneeled down with the blade of his knife pointed at my neck. "Listen here," he said, with the rotten stench of his mouth enveloping my sorry little nostrils. "If you got any weapons hidden on you, it's best you let us know now. Or else I'll have to give you a fucking world of pain, you hear?"

I chuckled lightly. "You took all my shit, buddy."

The man nodded and began patting down my legs. "Yeah. Okay. You can never be too sure."

"Jesus fucking Christ..." I muttered under my breath, amidst the distant sound of undead moaning from outside the walls. "I got nothing on me, dumbass." The man dropped his hands and stared back at me. "All my shit is over there where you left it." I gestured my head towards the bag of supplies in the corner of the empty apartment room. "You won, okay? You got my stuff. Now take it and get the fuck out of here."

There was a brief moment of silence before the man stood up, tightening his grip around his knife. "How about I cut off your fucking tongue and throw you out the window?!" he barked, as the shattering of glass from down the corridor echoed throughout the room.

"Fuck! Fuck! Shit! Fuck!" the man outside the door uttered. "Hurry it up, man!"

The leader's eyes widened as he began to pant heavily. He turned towards the idiot by the window, and pointed his knife towards my bag. "Grab it, and let's get the fuck out of here!" He turned back in my direction with the empty shrieking and moaning of the undead sounding from down the hall.

I could feel his tooth dislodging from place as I catapulted the top of my skull into his face with as much force as I could. The chair behind me toppled over - my hands still bound behind my back as his acquaintances looked at their unconscious friend in terror.

The crowbar-wielding dumbass began to walk towards me with his weapon raised.

"No… stop!" the man with the handgun said from the entrance of the room. His eyes flickered back and forth between the corridor and the suite. "Grab his shit and let's go! We don't have time for this!"

I stared back at the man, who was now shaking tremendously as he looked down at the motionless friend on the floor. "You heard the man," I said. "Get the fuck out of here." He swallowed nervously and picked up my bag. The two darted up the stairs of the apartment, stomping heavily up the steps as the sounds of the undead began to draw closer.

I lowered my hands towards the knife on the ground, picking it up by the blade with my fingers. I surveyed my surroundings as I made a sawing motion against the rope tied around my wrists. I strolled further into the apartment, peering out a window leading to a narrow alleyway.

I turned my head towards the door, and the infected began to enter the room. A group of them were already attaching themselves to the lifeless body on the floor. Their lifeless limbs suddenly lifting towards my direction. Their eyes widening in sight of their prey. Their legs slowly creeping towards me. The threads of the rope let loose and finally, my hands were unbound.

With the knife still in my hand, I grasped the handle of the window and pulled upwards with all the might I could muster. I could feel my heart beginning to beat faster with every step they took towards me. Inching closer and closer to being fodder for the undead. "Come on, you stupid fucking window!" I screamed as the glass pane finally slid upwards. An infected hand reached out towards me, just as my body swiftly slid through the narrow passageway.

The window slammed shut as I landed atop the wet concrete, and the coldness of the ground comforted my skin. I panted heavily as I glanced back at the undead, slapping and gnawing at the glass window.

Even after you've been exposed to them for weeks, they can still get to you. Fuck with you. Physically and mentally. You could be a fucking stuntman, a deep-sea diver, a miner - all at once - but when you get close enough to look into the undead's eyes, you'll be thinking about it for nights to come. Either you are mauled to death, or you get bitten bad enough to become one of them.

I looked upwards - my eyes following the silhouette of the conjoined rooftops between the many apartment units.

Look at me. I was a hired gun before all this shit. One of the best. You see, I was the fucking Grim Reaper escorting unlucky mobsters and cheaters and snitches and snakes and these unlucky souls to their deaths. Now they're after me.

Now to mention the rest of whatever is left of Liberty City too. The man by the window too afraid to save his unconscious friend. The younger one too damn scared to admit his handgun wasn't even loaded.

I stood up, still wielding the knife previously owned by the man I knocked out with my fucking skull. I gazed at the end of the alleyway, and then at the roof of the building that was the furthest away - the one still connected to the apartment I was recently confined to. I started down the narrow alley.

My name is Seth. And this is how I deal with being scared.


End file.
